Patriot Play

by Don Pendleton

  Amenta’s main client was the extreme militia group known as the Brethren. Commanded by Liam Seeger, the Brethren, with an isolated complex in the Colorado high country, ran vociferous campaigns that denounced the U.S. government, promised that the day of reckoning was due, and that the Brethren would be at the head of the popular rising of the country against Washington and the administration.

  At first the Brethren’s agenda seemed to be the same as many other isolationist groups who took to the secluded parts of the country, barricading themselves against the rest of society and vowed to defend their rights as Americans when the day came. Valens, while viewing these groups as more eccentric than dangerous, admitted that she also understood how they felt—alienated, fretful over the way the country was being run and cautious about the future. There had been incidents when the FBI had been forced to move against the more extreme of these groups. What they had found altered the perspective of the compounds. They had stores of weapons and ammunition, plentiful supplies of survival rations. Communication equipment and vehicular transport. Reading through FBI files she had been able to procure made Valens even more convinced that if Eric Stahl had links to the Brethren it was not because he had philanthropic desires. The Brethren, like Stahl, had a great animosity toward the U.S. administration. Stahl had even been a leading light of the Third Party, a vocal opponent of both Republican and Democrat parties. Somewhere along the line he and the Brethren appeared to have come together. Valens’s conclusion did not leave her with pleasant thoughts.

  She had no solid proof she could move on, nothing of any consequence that might stir federal agencies into action.

  But Valens had no intention of backing off. She slowly began to build her dossier on the Brethren and Eric Stahl. She was uncertain how to proceed if and when she had what she might consider enough evidence to go on, until on a lonely stakeout of Amenta’s Boise motel one night, with rain streaming down the windows of her vehicle. Amenta was in there with the man who had joined him earlier that day. Valens knew what she had to do and wondered why the notion hadn’t come to her before.

  Using her cell phone she called Saul Kaplan, Zero’s creator and the man now in charge of maintaining the orbiting platform. It had been some time since she had spoken with him. He answered on the third ring, recognizing her voice and answering her polite query on his health and how the Zero project was doing. Kaplan paused for a moment.

  “Agent Valens, I appreciate your call, but I suspect there is more to it than a polite chat about my health or Zero’s performance.”

  “There is. I need you to contact someone for me.”

  “From the tone of your voice I would hazard a guess it is Mr. Belasko.”

  “I’m supposed to be the one who deduces things.”

  Kaplan laughed. “Of course. Which is why I guessed you needed to speak with someone in your own line of work.”

  “Can you help?”

  “I have a number I can call that will get a message to the people he was involved with.”

  “If it’s possible for him to contact me, they can use my cell phone number.”

  “Yes. I have that. Clair, is this something I should know about?”

  “At this time I’m still checking it out. Just get Belasko to contact you. Tell him…Tell him it concerns Eric Stahl.”

  “Is Stahl up to his old games again?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out. Saul, please make that contact for me.”

  “Good enough. Clair, look after yourself. Please take care now.”

  “I WAS RIGHT,” Ribak said. “It’s the same damn car. Woman driver.”

  He turned from the window, reaching under his jacket for the Beretta 92-F he carried. Slipping the pistol from the leather holster on his belt, Ribak checked the weapon, easing off the safety.

  “What are you going to do?” Amenta asked. “Deke, you don’t start a shooting match in the middle of a motel parking lot.”

  “Relax, Juan, I’m not that stupid. But I’m not about to let that bitch go and maybe set us up.”

  “Deke, maybe she’s one of your ex-girlfriends checking you out.”

  “Uh-uh,” Ribak said. “My former girlfriends do not come looking for me. They know better.”

  The way he said it and allowed a smile to touch his pale lips unnerved Amenta.

  “So how are you going to play this?”

  “Nice and quiet. We ready to move?”

  “Just about.”

  “Give me a couple of minutes then get out to the car and wait for me. Keep the engine running. But do it nice and steady. No rushing. We drive out easy. No fuss.”

  VALENS SAW THE MAN emerge from Amenta’s motel room, watching as he paused to light a cigarette before moving beyond her line of sight. He walked steadily, making no suspicious moves, but Valens didn’t take chances. She eased her Glock from beneath her coat and placed it on the seat beside her right hand.

  Now what do you do, Clair? she pondered. One inside the room, the other somewhere out of your sight.

  She knew the wisest thing would be to start the car and drive away, give it up until a better opportunity showed itself. Valens accepted that to be the best option. Instinctively she objected to the thought. From childhood she had never gone by the safest route and even now she tended to swim against the tide. She admitted it was a failing, but each time a situation developed she refused to back off. It had dragged her into a compromising position on more than one occasion, and it would most likely do the same again if…

  Her car door was yanked open. Rain blew inside, hitting her. Valens dropped her hand over the Glock even as the cold muzzle of a handgun was pushed against the side of her head.

  “I suggest you don’t. Choice is yours. Die now, die later.”

  Valens raised her hand into full view. Inside she was beating herself up for being caught so easily. No one to blame but herself. Even so, it sucked.

  “Out of the car. Step easy.” He made her stand with her back to him, hands on top of her head, rain already soaking her. Valens could feel the muzzle of his weapon pressed against her spine. By the movements he made she knew he had scooped up her Glock from the seat. He had to have taken her keys from the ignition because when he closed the car door she heard the blip as he used the remote to lock the vehicle. “Wouldn’t want anyone to steal it. So much crime about these days.”

  “Tell me about it,” Valens murmured.

  “I like a woman with a sense of humor.” He prodded her with his pistol. “See the car over there with its lights on? We’re going to walk across and get in the back. No fuss. Oh, you can put your hands down now. Make it look like we’re together. Fuck with me, and I’ll shoot your spine out.”

  Valens believed him. She started across the parking lot to the waiting car. When they reached it, she opened the rear door and slid inside. Her captor joined her, closing the door. The man behind the wheel turned to look over his shoulder. Valens recognized Juan Amenta. He barely glanced at her, fixing his gaze on the man beside her.

  “Now what do we do?”

  “Exactly what we were going to do before Nancy Drew here joined us. Now let’s go.”

  The car turned and rolled across the lot, making a right turn as it joined the highway. Valens slumped back in her section of the rear seat, pushing her hands deep into the pockets of her coat.

  “Good idea,” the man with the gun said. “We got a long ride ahead of us. Be comfortable.”

  In the left-hand pocket of her coat Valens worked her cell phone open and felt for the power button, which she pressed. The phone was set on vibrate alert, so there wasn’t going to be any ring tones to give her away. Not that she was going to be able to answer any calls if they did come through. At least with the phone switched on her position could be tracked as long as the battery held out. Or until her captors decided to search her and found the phone.

  The car was heading north. Valens tried to identify landmarks, anything that might indicate her whereabo
uts and could be used to track her. Okay, she was clutching at straws, but in her current position there wasn’t much else she could do.

  She pushed her thoughts to her conversation with Saul Kaplan. Had he been able to get in touch with Belasko’s people yet? She knew she could depend on Kaplan following through. He was a man of his word. Capable. Any man who could create something like Zero had to be smart. Let’s hope you’re as clever as I’m figuring, Saul, she thought.

  Twice, police cruisers passed them, lights showing on the roofs of the vehicles. Not much comfort there, she decided. Beside her the man with the gun gave a pleased chuckle when the second cruiser overtook them.

  “If only he knew,” he said. The thought seemed to amuse him. “Cops. Just when you need one they’re way out of reach.”

  “Do you think I need one? Am I in that much trouble?” Valens asked dryly.

  “I’ll let you figure that out for yourself.”

  THEY DROVE FOR TWO HOURS, far out of the city, the car eventually turning into a small airfield and coming to a stop outside a hangar that bore the legend Beller’s Charter over the door.

  “Out, lady.”

  The pistol was held against Valens’s spine as she climbed out, pulling her coat around her against the rain. Her captor was taking no chances.

  “Are we taking a plane ride? Hope the movie’s good.”

  “Being lippy isn’t making me like you any better, so quit while you still have a mouth that works.”

  The tone he used convinced Valens he was serious. She fell silent and concentrated on checking out the area. Darkness and the falling rain obscured much of her vision. She did spot a blue-and-white Cessna twin-engine plane on the concrete apron close by. It bore the Beller’s Charter logo along its side. She had no more time to observe as the man with the gun pushed her forward and they crossed the apron, heading for the company office that was tacked on to the side of the company hangar. They stepped inside the building. It was an office-waiting room combo. A row of imitation leather couches stood against one wall. Valens was told to sit down. She dropped onto one of the couches, her hands in her coat pockets, and waited.

  The man behind the battered counter, heavyset, with a beefy face, took a long look at her before greeting his other guests. He nodded at Amenta, then turned to the blond man.

  “Ribak,” he said. “Plane’s fuelled and ready.”

  “I need a drink,” the man named Ribak said. “You got any coffee on the go?”

  “In back. Anybody else?” Amenta shook his head. “How about the lady?”

  Ribak glanced across at Valens. “She doesn’t need a thing. Do you, honey?”

  Valens hunched her shoulders.

  Amenta wandered behind the counter and into the office. Moments later he could be heard having a telephone conversation with someone. Ribak got his coffee and stood at the counter drinking it. The other man, who he called Beller, got his gear together. It appeared he was also the pilot.

  Valens made her decision on what to do about her cell phone. She waited until Ribak was savoring his coffee before she closed her fingers around the phone and worked her hand out of her pocket, easing the device across the seat, pushing the phone into the overlap between seat base and backrest. She wedged it deep into the gap until it was hidden from sight. She was acutely aware her action might not achieve anything at all. On the other side of the coin there was the possibility the signal might be picked up—if anyone was searching for her.

  With her maneuver completed she maintained her position and waited, offering no resistance until Ribak crossed over to her.

  “On your feet.”

  Valens got up and they walked from the office and across to the waiting Cessna. Beller went ahead and climbed into the cockpit. Ribak pushed her in the direction of the passenger door. Once they were inside and the door secured, Amenta took the front seat, opening his attaché case to work on a stack of papers. Ribak motioned Valens to one of the rear seats.

  “Wait a minute,” he said suddenly.

  Valens faced him. “Now what do you want?”

  He grinned. “Maybe you should be a little nicer to me, honey. Where you’re going you might need a friend.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, then.”

  “Smart. Now take off the coat.” When she did, he tossed it on one of the seats. “Now I get to search you.”

  “Take your time. It doesn’t look like I have any choice.”

  Ribak transferred his pistol to his left hand, using his right to carry out a thorough body search. “Believe me, I’m not doing this for fun.”

  “Don’t tell me I’m losing my appeal.”

  Ribak caught her unflinching stare. “Honey, that’s a long way off.” He moved to retrieve her coat, going through the pockets before handing it back to her. “Now I got your ID. I got your gun. But I didn’t find a phone. Isn’t that kind of unusual?”

  Valens slipped her coat back on. “Well, honey, if you hadn’t been in such a hurry to get me out of my car you would have found it in the glove box. If you want to drop me off, I’ll go and get it for you.”

  Ribak held her eye contact, a faintly puzzled expression on his lean face. He finally grinned. As the Cessna’s engines built up power, he waved her into her seat, taking the one across the aisle from her, his pistol resting in his lap as he leaned back, relaxing. “Buckle up. Long ride ahead, honey.”

  The word was starting to grate on Valen’s nerves. She contained her feelings. There might come a time when she could express those feelings in a positive way.

  Amenta went forward to speak to the pilot. The Cessna started to move quickly out to the runway. Valens could hear faint instructions coming over the radio in the cockpit. But the words were indistinct. Amenta returned to his seat and his paperwork. Resigned to her situation, Valens slumped back in her seat, wondering where they were going and who she would meet at the end of the flight.

  HOURS LATER THE CESSNA made a gentle landing on a concrete runway set behind a large timber-and-stone ranch-style house. The house sat in isolated splendor with mountains in the background and rolling emptiness all around it. Daylight had come in the last hour. Valens opened weary eyes and stared out through the side window. She had no idea where they were. The moment the Cessna came to a stop, her captor told her to move. Valens pushed to her feet, movements sluggish after the prolonged inactivity of the flight. Amenta opened the door and went out first. Cool air brushed Valens’s face as she exited the Cessna, still aware of the gun against her spine.

  “Head for the house. Nice walk should wake you up.”

  “Something I need to see?”

  There was no reply. Valens trailed after Amenta, pushing her hands into her coat pockets. Moving on, she casually took her hands out of her pockets, running her hands through her hair.

  “No need to freshen up,” her captor said. “You don’t pick up brownie points for looking beautiful.”

  They reached the house and Valens was taken directly through to a spacious living room with a panoramic view of the mountain backdrop through a large window. The furnishing was plain and clean. Pale wood. Chrome. The floor smooth, polished pine.

  There were three men waiting for them. Valens recognized one immediately—Liam Seeger, head of the Brethren. She had never seen the other two men. Glancing across the room she realized there was a fourth man, seated in a high-backed leather recliner, turned to face the scenic view. All she could see were his legs and a hand resting on the arm of the seat.

  Seeger looked her over, his single eye cold, devoid of any feeling. Something in his expression made Valens shiver. He made her feel naked, as if she were spread-eagled and tied down.

  “So who is she?” he asked.

  Valens’s escort eased the gun from her spine. He reached into a pocket and pulled out the leather wallet he’d taken from her back at the motel. He threw it to Seeger. He opened the wallet and read what was printed on Valens’s ID.

  “You realize who we have here?
Come to think of it, why the hell did you bring her here?”

  “It’s called intelligence gathering. There was no way I could have handled an interrogation back at the motel. Too many chances someone might have seen, or heard.”

  “Deke, now we have to consider getting rid of her if she becomes a risk.”

  “And who knows where she is way out here? Mr. Seeger, we could hide a whole baseball team in your backyard.”

  “Damn, Deke, it’s too dangerous.”

  “It’s dangerous falling out of bed in the morning,” Ribak said. “One fuckin’ agent brought out here is safer than leaving her back there where she might start talking. Look, we need to learn anything she knows. Could be she’s in with that guy screwing around with us.”

  Seeger was still not fully convinced. He crossed to the high-backed recliner and passed the ID to the man seated there.

  Valens heard him laugh gently. He leaned forward and pushed to his feet, turning to face her, studying her ID card.

  Clair Valens had no idea who the man was, but the expression on his face suggested that he knew her.

  Harry Brent, known to Seeger as the man representing his anonymous helper, was aware of Clair Valens. His employer—Eric Stahl—had never forgotten Valens’s role in his defeat over the Zero conspiracy. He kept his grudge against her alive by maintaining a file on the young woman, expressing his desire to one day repay her for what she had contributed to his downfall. Stahl was one of those individuals who refused to allow past indiscretions to be forgotten. He was a vindictive man. It gave him great satisfaction when he was able to repay those indiscretions. Brent tried to imagine how Stahl would feel when he was told of her capture by the Brethren.